Losing sight

I hate my writing now.

Between what I wrote then and what I’m writing now, I hate my current writing. I’ve known that they are bad, but I couldn’t quite find someone to tell it straight to my face till today. And it really hit me.

I went back through my old blog entries. I went hunting for entries that were a few years old, entries that I wrote when I was in college. I skimmed through them, and the emotions that I felt while writing them came back. I remember sitting in the college library, writing the entries when I was still with Blogger, I remember what it feels like to simply let the words flow.

Much like now.

I’ll admit. I crave acknowledgement, I crave recognition. I crave people to notice me. Yet… this influenced my writing. Because if I wrote something that people don’t like, I might… I might feel uncomfortable with the attention. I’m worried that the online life I have now, will come back to touch my offline life in a way that cause my parents distress. And yes, I mean the word distress. I don’t want my parents to worry about me, they have enough to worry about. We’ve talked about me keeping a blog before (which ended in tears and involved me listening to my mother freely admitting that she was worried that by doing so, I might be caught and kept under the ISA). This is the main reason why I don’t give out my blog to my family members. If they can find me, then so be it.

I’ve been writing for an audience, and it shows. My writing, which used to be for myself, is no longer so. I no longer write because I want to, I write because I feel that I’m forced to. And it really shows. My writing for my old company was crap. I hated how it all sounded, but I wrote it anyway, because it was something that I had to do. Don’t get me wrong. I love writing the articles, but I hated how they all came out sounding. The only reason I kept reading them was because I was reading to myself.

In a lot of ways, it reminds me of the time when I found one of my old exercise books with a story I wrote in primary school. I hated my grammar, but when I read it again it feels right. The story was there. The characterisations were there. EVERYTHING was there except the really horrible grammar. I enjoyed writing then, and it showed.

So I grew up and my writing has suffered. Part of it has also have to be because I roleplayed my characters, a job which I botched up, I believe. Thing is, looking on it now, I realise that I’ve been trying to put them into boxes. Stereotyping without realising that I am doing so. No wonder it’s been so hard for me to write. I’ve forgotten how it feels to rant. How it feels to just let everything out. To just enjoy the flow of words. To listen to the sound of the keyboard, to simply write.

I missed that.


I chose this name, for this blog, because it represented who I was.

I’m a Gemini, and I wear spectacles. It’s sort of a symbolic meaning saying “Double Vision.” No, I’m not talking about the production company. It’s because I like to see two sides to an argument. To empathise with both involved parties. To see things merely beyond the surface.

That used to be one of my gifts. Used to be one of my specialities. That of stringing random facts together to create an interesting whole. Or at least a picture that would make you think.

What do I fear?

Losing my job because of my blog. Losing my passion for writing, for playing with words, for being a wordsmith.

What drives me?

Passion. I love what I’m doing, love this unspeakable release that just feels so good when you’ve written something you can be proud of. Is it a high? Not really. Is it a sense of fulfilment? Maybe. Is it better than sex?

It’s less messier.

Never forget this.


4 thoughts on “Losing sight”

  1. I’ve always ask myself several questions whenever I write – “Who am I writing for?” “Who does bother to read anything I write?”

    And whenever I try to write something that I want someone to read, what the masses want to read… it does affect my writing and I always wonder whether I am writing for the right reasons.

    I love writing, it’s my passion as much as books, movies and anime are. But I learnt to realise that if I compel myself to write something I want people to read, my writing comes out false…like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.

    In the last couple of years since I started writing professionally and began seriously writing as a career, I have learnt to fuck it all and just write because I LOVE writing. Who cares if no one reads them? As long as I’m writing with passion, with honesty and conviction, that’s all that matters to me now. I’ve been told before that writing with these feelings won’t make me a successful fiction writer. There may be some truth in that, but I refuse to believe I can’t succeed one day as a fiction novelist.

    It’s all a matter of the heart, lil sis. When your heart is in the right place and when you’re writing for right reasons…the words would just flow…and the passion and fire you have for writing will be the driving force.

    Do I make any sense? Hahaha…I ramble on a lot sometimes, couldn’t organise my thoughts when writing spontaneously. I always need to plan my writing. :p

    Anyways, keep your chin up, ok? Don’t let the circumstances around you deprive you of your passion for writing!

    I, for one, don’t give a fuck about the ISA, I have absolutely zero respect for that archaic law, no matter how well it had served us during the Emergency times. Times change, people change, mentality changes…sooooo damn angry that the present govt is too blind and too stubborn to understand. A bunch of neanderthals running this country (Except Pak Lah, of course)!

  2. Pingback: Why Do I Write? « The House of Scribbles & Endless Jottings

  3. Well, minus a certain choice word or two, I agree.

    I have recently been down that road, only worse. I used to come up with story concepts almost every day in high school and doodle the characters and then when writing became part of my profession, the wells of joy and creativity dried up as it was channeled into *BLAH* corporate stuff. I had to learn to switch off my inner critics and just focus on writing. Trash or treasure, who cares, you get some good stuff, you get some bad. I’m learning to venture in again with youthful abandon.

    You don’t have to worry, I think, because not only are you expressive, you are introspective and are quick to know what makes a good story or no. Fly, angel with the pen, fly, you’re gonna go far.

    Phil, you too, though I kinda imagine you more with a giant sword that says: “Viva le revolution!!”

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